


(a moment)

by thisissirius



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, M/M, Protective Shane Madej, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-09 03:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14708457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisissirius/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: ryan is shivering when they get back to the motel





	(a moment)

**Author's Note:**

> written for my darling finkpishnets, who deserves all the amazing things <3 (IT WILL GO FINE!!!)
> 
> she is responsible for my fall into shane/ryan and i don't know how i feel about it yet (i'm lying, i love it)
> 
> (i have a half-written demon!shane fic..... idek what i'm doing)

Ryan is shivering when they get back to the motel.

It’s not the best place they’ve ever stayed, but Shane’s spent the night in a haunted (ha) asylum, so the state of their accommodation doesn’t bother him if he gets some sleep. Ryan, however, has been griping about everything from the Wi-Fi to the mattress to the lack of hot water. 

Shane’s certain he spends most of his time rolling his eyes or laughing at Ryan. It generally depends on his mood – or Ryan’s mood. Now, though, Ryan looks small (well, smaller than usual) and cold, taking shuffling steps into the room.

“Ryan,” Shane says, keeping his voice soft. It feels like a soft moment, and he doesn’t want to be an asshole.

Ryan looks up, and yeah, his expression is a little pathetic. They’re in Seattle, shooting for the new episode of Supernatural, and got caught in a downpour. Shane’s wet himself and dripping all over the carpet, but his long legs gave him the speed he needed to find cover quickly. He could make all the height jokes he likes (and will, when they’re out of here and Ryan’s not so ridiculously miserable), but right now, Ryan looks like he’s a step away from hypothermia.

“Come on, idiot,” Shane tugs on Ryan’s sleeve, pulls him towards the bathroom.

“I can do it,” Ryan snaps, but it’s through chattering teeth so it loses some of the bite. (No pun intended).

“Sure, buddy.” Shane keeps his tone even but manhandles Ryan out of his jacket. Ryan’s shivering so hard that he probably couldn’t get himself out of his wet clothes, but Shane wisely keeps his mouth shut. Ryan’s pliant under his hands, and he’s got his eyes closed, content with letting Shane take the lead. It’s a lot of trust but Shane’s not surprised by it; their friendship is solid, and for all the jokes they make about murder and death, Shane knows what he’d do for Ryan. (It scares him sometimes when he thinks about it too long, so he deliberately doesn’t.)

There are two towels on the heating rack in the bathroom – and isn’t it a wonder that a motel like this even has heating racks – and he snags one, tossing it on Ryan’s head. “Dry your hair.”

Ryan lets out a noise, and when he tugs the towel off his hair, he’s glaring. The effect is lessened somewhat by the drowned rat look he’s sporting, but Shane can’t help but huff out a laugh anyway. Ryan obediently begins to rub at his hair while Shane crouches down, untying Ryan’s shoelaces.

This is not something he ever thought he’d be doing. Ryan’s a big boy and could get himself undressed but there are times when Shane has to  _help_. Times when Ryan will be staring at him, eyes wide, mouth crooked in such a way that wrenches on Shane’s heart. He doesn’t think Ryan needs this, particularly needs him (and doesn’t that thought hurt), but he likes to do what he can, likes to remind Ryan that he’s here, that he can be whatever Ryan needs. He’s not analysing that desperation.

 Ryan never seems to mind and has returned the favour on more than one occasion (Shane really does need to stop eating shitty food.)

Shane taps Ryan’s legs, waits for him to step out of his shoes. When Shane looks up, Ryan’s staring down at him, expression difficult to read.

“You can help me outta my pants, too?” Ryan’s voice sounds strange, but his fingers rest on Shane’s head, hardly a touch at all.

Shane swallows. This feels like a Moment, even if he’s not entirely sure what kind of moment. “If you want.”

Ryan doesn’t answer for a beat, towel hanging loosely from his fingers, but his eyes are really fucking brown when he’s staring like that. “Maybe I do.”

It’s a challenge spoken like a promise, and Shane’s fingers twitch against Ryan’s leg. Okay. Cool. He can be suave and cool about this. (He’s a fucking teenager, all leg, clumsy and stumbling over his words). Shane doesn’t say anything else, just reaches up for Ryan’s belt, hates how much his fingers are shaking against Ryan’s buckle.

“Hey,” Ryan says, and his fingers tighten incrementally in Shane’s hair. Shane meets his eyes slowly, and his mouth goes dry at what he sees there. “It’s alright.”

“I know,” Shane says, with bravado he doesn’t feel. Whatever happens here, whatever they do, this will change things. The moment stretches, and Shane only snaps out of it when Ryan gives a full-bodied shudder. It’s a reminder of why they’re doing this in the first place. “Come on, off.”

Ryan snaps off a weak salute and returns to rubbing his hair.

The moment broken, Shane finds tugging down Ryan’s jeans down and off easier. He leaves the boxers, mouth-watering as he sees Ryan’s dick straining against the fabric, but he ignores it, pushes back up to his feet. The height difference between them is obvious like this, up close, and Ryan drops the towel, starts tugging at his shirt.

“You’re gonna get dry too, right?”

Startled, Shane looks down at himself, realising that yeah, he should probably get out of his own wet clothes. It takes less time than it had to undress Ryan, given the lack of meaningful moments, but Ryan’s watching him; Shane can feel the heat of his gaze on his chest, his legs, his face. He doesn’t flush, doesn’t give any outward sign that he’s affected, but as soon as he drops his jeans, Ryan’s gaze lingers on his hips.

Shane doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Sometimes he hates being tall; it makes placing his limbs in respectable positions really fucking difficult. Ryan shuffles forward, fingers sliding against Shane’s hips. He drops his forehead to Shane’s chest, sighs long and slow. His breath warms Shane’s skin. “M’cold.”

“I know.” Shane rests his hand on the back of Ryan’s head. The size difference is fascinating; everything about their size difference gives Shane emotions he doesn’t quite know how to handle. (Or knows how to handle, but doesn’t want to scare Ryan with their intensity.)“Come on.”

Shane backs them out of the bathroom, Ryan making it difficult by refusing to give him space. Ryan wheezes against his skin, grip tightening on Shane’s hips. Shane curls an arm around Ryan’s shoulder to keep their balance and backs them up to the bed. It’s a double, roomy and uncomfortable (if you’re Ryan), but it suits Shane’s purposes. He tips them down, Ryan sprawled beneath him, Shane’s body framing his head, his torso.

“Hey,” Ryan says, smoothly, and Shane wheezes as he buries his face in Ryan’s neck. Ryan’s hand finds his hair again, strokes his fingers through Shane’s hair.

“You warmer?” Shane asks, his voice muffled by Ryan’s skin.

Ryan shuffles a little, moves up the bed so that he can look Shane in the eye. “Would be warmer under the covers.”

Shane snorts, laughs out loud when Ryan honest-to-god wiggles his eyebrows. He doesn’t know why he ever let himself worry about these moments, the feelings between them. Whatever happens, however scary things are, they always manage to find a place they both fit together easily.

Shane obliges anyway, shifts back so that he can tug the covers out from under Ryan’s body. Ryan helps, ungainly as he shuffles back up the bed, using his heels to shove the covers down. Shane finds some measure of suave as he slides up Ryan’s body, bringing the duvet with him. Ryan laughs again (Shane really likes it when he laughs, shit) and curls his fingers around Shane’s shoulders, drags him down.

It’s not a kiss, not really, just a sharing of breath. Perhaps this is a logical step, Shane thinks. He doesn’t believe in ghosts, doesn’t believe in aliens or demons or any of the shit Ryan gets so scared over, but this he does believe; Ryan’s smile, his laugh, everything about him – that’s what gets Shane up in the morning, what gets him to work, takes him every-fucking-where that boasts the supernatural. Shane would do fifteen seasons of Unsolved if it gave him this, Ryan smiling up at him, Ryan’s fingers in his hair, Ryan’s breath against his mouth.

“Warmer?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says, tugging Shane down until they’re curled up together, warm and secure under the duvet. “You?”

“Was anyway,” Shane mutters, but he doesn’t think Ryan hears him. (It’s ridiculous anyway; Shane’s not the kind of guy to say something cliché like  _I’m always warm when you’re around_.)

Except, apparently, he is.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://thisissirius.tumblr.com) if you so wish.


End file.
